Finn McRedmond’s opinion piece in The Irish Times yesterday
The one thing going for Russell Brand and his strange Christian conversion is that, despite his evident distance from the Kingdom of God and his weak grasp on serious theology, he does at the very least look a bit like Jesus. (At least in the caricature of our imaginations.)
The substance, if we can call it that, seems to stop here. Brand’s version of Christianity – its closest denominational analogue seems to be evangelism – has little basis in the modern practices of the mainstream church.
Brand has been on quite the journey. He was an MTV presenter, then a small- screen comedian known for his brashness. Later, he had a turn as a film star while also trying on the guise of a political activist (he endorsed Ed Miliband in 2015, and led some anti-austerity protests).
Cranking up his messianic aspirations, Brand launched a YouTube channel and began to anxiously rant to millions of followers about a shadowy elite pulling the strings of the world, offering vague and rapturous warnings about Covid-19 and vaccines. The downward spiral set in motion by the YouTube conspiracism was turbocharged. Last year, a joint investigation by The Times and Channel 4 revealed several women had accused Brand of sexual misconduct or assault – charges he denies. Since then, he has found God.
Just last week, during Hurricane Milton, Brand gave us an inside look into his faith: “In the middle of this crazy story in Florida ...” (Brand was in Miami, hundreds of miles away from the eye of the storm) “[it is] worth thinking how the metaphor of the storm affects us all ... a demonstration of the almighty power that is beyond our control ... it helps me to understand that I must listen and watch for Christ.”
Since 2023, Brand has been tracing his journey into Christianity. He was baptised in the Thames in April. Since then, he has been seen performing a Baptism himself in a river and his underwear. And more recently he has taken to his knees to pray on stage with fellow members of the new American right, first Tucker Carlson and then Jordan Peterson, in front of packed out arenas. The Brand of 2015 is a long way away – this year, he asked God to shine a light on the “dark forces” operating the “deep state”. His latest act of piety is selling “amulets” for £180 to ward off nasty things like wifi and ill-defined bad vibes. (I’m listening!)
Brand has company. Peterson – a professor who became the first public intellectual to sell out the O2 – is an agnostic who happily had Brand pray onstage with him. Carlson has long been associated with the Christian right. Both men are kingpins of a new version of American conservatism, and use the language and guise of religion to spread their word. Joe Rogan – a podcaster who averages more than 10 million listens per episode – has increasingly leant in to conversations about faith. These men do not share a homogeneous ideology, but emerge from a similar place. And religion has become shorthand for belonging to their group. A cynic might say Brand was looking for an in.
But there are plenty of strands to the new religious revival. The aesthetics of Catholicism – rosary beads, ermine, images of the Virgin Mary – have been wielded as fashion statements since the late 2010s. What was once intended to be transgressive has fully made its home in the mainstream: the Met Gala theme in 2018 was Fashion and the Catholic Imagination; Fleabag’s “hot priest” will be among the 2010s’ most memorable characters.
Now Sally Rooney’s best- selling new novel Intermezzo finds religion as its central theme. And the current Pope adopts a liberal bent (defended as a survival mechanism for the declining church). Given all of this we might expect some shift in the data, some proof that all of this religiosity means something. But there has been no accompanying flurry of young people re-embracing the church. This version of the Catholic revival – a distant land from Carlson, Brand and Rogan – is clearly skin deep.
Still, there is something that links them both. Without the architecture provided by a culturally religious society, the Christian God quickly becomes a cipher for a political identity. In Brand’s case, that’s membership to the American right-wing guru class. In the mainstream adoption of Catholicism, it’s something different: proof of membership to a liberal class that no longer fears God but can instead mock his pieties. Faith takes a back seat to the political signalling.
This might not matter much at all: Christianity has been around for some time, and I suspect it will weather this particular trend cycle, no matter Russell Brand’s risible public display. And these Christian gurus will find a new cause celebre in no time at all.
Meanwhile, there are wifi-warding amulets to be sold and American megachurches to be attended. God may or may not be there.
End
EWTN’s Raymond Arroyo interviewed Donald Trump on 'The World Over’ yesterday.
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